November 8, 2013

You
might wonder what imagination is capable of. What it could mean to let the mind
roam about unimpeded throughout the universe of possibilities and
impossibilities. No shackles of reality to tie us down, no limiting laws of
time and space to constrain us. Unbounded, unfettered, unshackled, unchained.
The fringes of our minds hammering against the curtain of reality, willing it
to bulge and spread out. After all, the feathers in our wings grow tired in the suffocating
confines of life's nest. And this is why, people
invented magic.

I am a
magician. You will scoff at it, I know. I would have scoffed at such ridiculous
claims made by another. But the universe doesn't care what you believe. You can believe
whatever lies you want to. And since I am a magician, I think the truth is
overrated. I am the devil. An accomplished sinner. I manufacture altered
realities. I twist the logic of fates and destinies. I create chaos out of
order and meaninglessness out of purpose. And by extension, lies out of truths.

Ah, and
now you must be getting restless. Wasn't this supposed to be about the Platinum
Day of Love? Where you could have sat back, relaxed and enjoyed a warm tale of
lovers celebrating the innocence and purity of a delightful sojourn into love.
But you know nothing is really innocent and pure, right? Which is why we need
magic. To set things right. To fashion worlds and circumstances where happy
endings stay forever.

The
story begins on a starry night. We are lying on wet sand, you and I. Holding
hands, gazing at the glittering stars in the sky. The lulling sound of sea
waves nuzzles into our eardrums. I hear you snort. So much talk on imagination
and I come up with the most trite and hackneyed of settings. But you have to
grant me some liberties. It's what magicians do. They show you something
mundane and ordinary. Like a hat or wand or a box. And then proceed to craft
something incredible out of it.

"Has
it ever occurred to you that the stars could just be an illusion?" you ask
me, without taking your eyes off the sparkling sky.

"Uh-huh?"
I say, lifting an eyebrow.

"Some
of these stars died millions of years ago. And yet they are bright and alive in
our skies." You turn
and smile at me. "Illusion."

"Just
like love," I say, my fingers gripping the crevices between your fingers more
firmly.

You frown and say, "What?"

"Look
around you. Love between two people fades. And yet they cling on to each other
out of a misplaced sense of loyalty."

"Maybe
the loyalty isn't as misplaced as you think." There is a faint indignation
creeping into your voice. And funnily enough, it turns me on.

"Of
course not." My lips curve rightward into a smirk.

You
shake your head affectionately, a smile parting your face. "You're a piece
of work, you know that?"

"That's
general knowledge. Now close your eyes."

"What?
Why?"

"Just
close your eyes."

"Hell,
no! You aren't pulling that trick on me again. Last time you stole a
kiss."

I smile.
I fancy it would be an indulgent smile. Like a father smiles when he sees his
kid trying in vain to guess the ending of a bed-time story.

"All
right, don't close your eyes. Look around you."

And you
look. It's no longer night. Someone has magically snapped it away with the
flick of a celestial switch. The sun is bright and strong. And that's not even
the most wonderful thing. All around you the sand has changed. No longer the
dull, listless yellow. But vibrant red. As if on cue, the sea has changed its
hue too. It is turquoise now and alongside it, the sand's redness dazzles in a
startling contrast.

Confusion
and surprise cling to your eyes and face as you open your mouth to speak.

"H-how?"

I'm
smug. "I told you I'm a magician."

You
don't reply. And stoop to collect some of the red sand in your palms. When you
stand up straight again, we are no longer in Hawaii.

All
around us now are blue and white bumpy pyramids reaching into the clouds. Snow-capped
mountains piercing through white mounds of cotton candy. And before us we are
beholding the most amazing sunrise ever. The bright globe rising in the center and spreading its soft and warm rays all around. And on both sides of it, like
arms, two golden-yellow, thin and never-ending paint-strokes over the
mountainous horizon in the east. The paint-strokes fade upwards into a
dazzling, serene blue of the sky.

Source: huffingtonpost.ca

"Time
to get high," I laugh. "8848 meters above sea-level."

Your
eyes seem to have got wider with bewilderment, if that is even possible.
"You m-mean we are at-"

The
sand slips between your fingers. The snow starts melting where the sand falls.
We watch as the red of the sand melts in a miniature pool. With the snow all
around, it looks like a drop of blood on a white satin sheet.

"How
are we even breathing at this altitude?" Your voice is all skepticism and
awe.

"Or
freezing to death for that matter. Or not having our lungs blow up from edema,"
I reply.

I
love playing the smart Alec I feast on opportunities of pointing out things
missed by others. It's a vice I will carry to my grave. "We are in a
protective cocoon. Invisible. There. Stretch your hand. You'll feel your
fingers squeak against its fabric."

You
do as told. Gingerly with your right hand first. And then getting bolder, you
start probing with both hands.

I
can hear your heart-beat getting wilder. I can see the blood rush into your
face. Your breath gets tangled in your throat.

I
can sense all this. And more, if I try. At my best, I can hear all your
thoughts so loud that they will feel like hurricanes roaring on my eardrums. But
I don't. That's the thing about magic. It's so easy to be tempted, to lose
control. It's an effort not to breach another person's rights.

I
shuffle backwards a few steps, till I can feel the fabric of the cocoon against
my back. It's reassuring. We'll need it even more at our next stop.

Our
cocoon shoots upwards, carrying its human payload with it. The snow below it violently
sprays outwards, as if hurled by a tempest. And we are airborne. Zooming out
from earth's atmosphere, into our solar system and then blasting through
hyperspace, hurtling at ten million times the speed of light. The distance of
1400 light years is covered in a matter of twelve eye-blinks.

"Where
are we now?" Fear makes you clutch my arm. And your face still carries the
ceaseless wonder of a child.

"We
were talking about dead stars, remember? So I thought why don't we focus on
something brighter instead? Like the
birth of one."

In
front of us, a huge dark mass of gas and dust swirls in space. Like a menacing
cloud of locusts. Somewhere nearby another star explodes, and a shock wave
travels through the cloud. Massive jets of purple and pink, orange and green
gases erupt from it and torpedo outwards at speeds of 1 million kilometers per
hour.

You
shield your dumbstruck eyes as the blazing gases streams collide with the
objects surrounding the cloud, causing them to dazzle with a blinding glow.

The
cloud begins to shrink and divide into even smaller swirling clouds. We watch the
center of the cloud getting hotter and hotter until it ignites with a
terrifying ferocity and a new star is born.

Source:wikipedia.com

Of
course, these events take place over millions of years. But for a magician,
time and space really don't mean much. I can hook up the universe to serve as a
super-gigantic projector for time-lapse photography, where a million years
compress into a tiny second.

"Where
exactly are we?" you whisper, incredulous.

"Southern
constellation of Vela, 1400 light years from Earth," I say in the same
tone as I had announced the Red Sand Beach in Hawaii.

You
blink your eyes. Once. Twice. "This is just i-n-c-r-e-d-i-"

But
you never get the chance to finish. I slip a Platinum love band with pave set
diamonds on your finger. The male of
that pair of bands glimmers on my right index finger.

Source: preciousplatinum.in

Your
eyebrows furrow. "What's this for?"

I
give my shit-eating smirk. "At the risk of sounding corny, you're the one
I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I don't think, any metal can do
justice to everlasting love than platinum."

I
roll my eyes. I can ramble on and on about how platinum is naturally white so
will not cast any color into a diamond or that it will never fade or tarnish or
the fact that it is hypoallergenic, so it is ideal for your sensitive skin. I
can point out that platinum is 30 times more rare than gold. That it is
exclusive, a statement of individuality and desired by those in the know. Platinum's
durability and resistance mean your jewelry will last for a lifetime of wear.
Platinum does not wear away so it holds precious stones securely.

But
I don't. Because you already know all that. And even more because- although you
don't show it, I can sense a discomfort within you.

"What's
the matter?" I ask, my eyebrows stitched together in concern; my smirk has vanished and my lips have compressed into a thin serious line.

"I
have a cousin. Very pretty, very good in studies. People used to fall all over
her. Love caught her young. Despite her parents' protests, she married an
unemployed guy while she was still in her teens. Had a baby before twenty. But
her husband was still unemployed. And unfortunately, he passed away. Leaving
her with their son."

I
flinch a bit. I know what is about to come.

"Her
in-laws, insensitive louts, drove her and her kid out of their home. And thus
at twenty, she was left to fend for herself and her baby."

You
stop for a moment. I can see your eyes getting teary and even deeper, the pain
receptors in your brain lighting up like bonfires.

I
let my fingers brush against yours. You don't seem to notice though. Your eyes
remain sad and far as you resume speaking.

"Ten
years passed. She was earning enough in her job. But she was lonely. My dad and
a couple of other relatives decided to get her remarried. And you can imagine
the type of prospects which arrived. Forty year olds with bulging pot-bellies,
social rejects who couldn't lay their hands on a firsthand bride. And none of
them wanted anything to have to do with the kid. Five years have gone by. And
we are still searching for a suitable groom. And you know what pains us the
most? It's that she has lost all hope. Of ever being happy again. She has
resigned herself to her loneliness. She loved someone with all her heart and
this is how fate rewarded her. So when people give me that bullshit about
everlasting love, you know why I tend to be a little skeptical."

You
meet my gaze now. Searching my eyes for something.

"Look
at the diamonds," I simply say.

"Excuse
me?"

"I
said look at the diamonds on your band. Look closely."

You
look at me in a funny sort of a way and then focus on the diamonds set in your
love band.

I
smile inwardly as your expression changes. From annoyance to surprise and
finally elation.

I
know what you see. Inside the beautiful, shimmery faces of the diamonds, the
most wonderful scenes are playing out. Your cousin is giving birth to a baby
girl. The father is all smiles as he holds his child. And then he carefully
hands the little bundle of joy to a fifteen year old boy. The boy is your
cousin's son. He has a new father who loves him and now also a baby sister to play
with.

I
can see the boy's affectionate smile reflect in your eyes when you say,
"Is t-this....real?"

"As
real as you and me."

"But
h-how?"

"Everlasting
love," I smile and say.

"Huh?"

"The
father. He lived in the same neighborhood your cousin grew up in. Loved her
since childhood. But by the time he mustered enough courage to tell your
cousin's dad about his desire to marry her, she was already married.
Heartbroken, he left the city to get over her."

"But
then how did all this happen?" you ask, staring astounded at the diamonds and
then staring at me.

"I
went back in time, hon. Cast an astral projection of myself five years back
into our timeline. I sought him out and explained to him the situation. He
works in the railways. On hearing what I had to say, he immediately boarded the
next train to his city. After getting off at the station, he headed straight to
your cousin's father. He told him he was willing to take responsibility of the
mother as well as the kid. And the rest, as they say, is his and her story."

"YOU
MEAN YOU CAN DO ALL THAT? ALTER TIME STREAMS?" You are now a perfect picture
of amazement and flabbergasted fascination.

"Magic
is not infinite. It has its limitations. Every feat I pull off subtracts a
certain amount of time from my life."

"How
much did all of what you did today cost you?" The concern in your tone
becomes palpable.

"Seven
years."

I
lie. It cost me fifteen. But you don't need to know that.

After
all, the very mention of your name makes a smile break free on my face. Quick-witted,
silver-tongued, tempestuous - dutiful daughter, doting friend, with eyes the
color of smoldering charcoal. My love.

"Take
it back," you snap, as I knew you would. "Take all of it back."

"I
can't."

"Why?"

"Rewriting
on the fabric of reality too many times will cause its cohesiveness to break.
And if that happens, even I don't know what will be the consequences."

I
lie again, of course. I can take it all back. But what's fifteen years compared
to your happiness?

"I
don't want to lose you so fast." Your worry creeps into your gut and ties
knots there. I can feel all of it. I can feel all of it as if it is happening
to me.

"I'll
be fine," I reply.

But
my voice breaks in the middle, and the next thing I know, you are right next to
me and your arms are awkwardly wrapped around me and you are kissing my
forehead, my cheeks, my lips.

“Oh
sweetheart, I am so happy, yet so scared…”

I
breathe in as deeply as I dare. Your familiar, beloved scent eases the ache in
my head and the dryness of my throat. I run my fingers through your silky hair,
savoring your nearness. You are my platinum. As long as you are with me, I can
get through anything. Even this.